


Friends At Last

by lettered



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All Magic Comes With a Price, Dirty Talk, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28294563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettered/pseuds/lettered
Summary: This can be considered the sex extra from Away Childish Things, if you like, but you don't have to have read that to enjoy this. It's porn.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 33
Kudos: 571





	Friends At Last

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in my dreamwidth in November 2018. It takes place directly after Away Childish Things. It's not posted as a sequel, because I see the original story as complete. This scene is not integral to that story, but since it was posted over two years ago now, I thought I would make it available to more people.

“Harry. Yes.” Draco kissed him again.

Draco kissed him again, but this time he put his tongue in Harry’s mouth and Harry didn’t have to chase it. He didn’t have to do anything, though he wanted to, because Draco held him pinned against the wall, Draco’s tongue hot and insistent in Harry’s mouth. Harry tried to kiss him back; he tried, but Draco made him feel like he was incompetent at kissing, like he might as well put his head against the wall and be devoured because it was the best thing that ever happened to him, and Harry thought it might be. It really might be.

Harry concentrated on his hands instead—getting to touch Draco’s strong, lean back, his narrow waist, lean hips, his arse—

“Harry.” Draco ripped his lips away, panting heavily. His brow pressed into Harry’s, mouth still close enough for Harry to taste Draco’s breath.

Harry brushed his hand over Draco’s arse again and Draco made a soft, needy little sound, hot lips catching against Harry’s again in an almost clumsy way, as though Draco couldn’t help himself. When Harry stroked him again, Draco shivered, trembling against him. “Harry,” Draco whispered into his mouth. “Harry.”

Harry’s hands moved to Draco’s hips, moving a little closer to line them up with his own. “Do you want to?” he asked. He’d leaned in to Draco’s ear to whisper, but Draco’s pale skin was there, the elegant line of his neck under his jaw. Harry put his mouth there, beneath Draco’s ear, and Draco made another sound. “Can I?” Harry asked, his hands moving to the fastening of Draco’s trousers.

Draco sucked in a breath. “Not here.”

Harry straightened, taking his hands from Draco’s trousers.

Draco’s grey eyes were big, his mouth red from kissing. “I want . . .” His hands were on Harry’s dressing gown. Then his lips were again on Harry’s, closing on Harry’s bottom lip, sucking, warm and soft and so fucking sweet as he opened the dressing gown, pushing it off Harry’s shoulders. Draco spoke between kisses, pulling off the dressing gown as Harry helped. “Can we—I want to—I want—Harry.” Draco kissed him, then spoke in a rush. “I want to shag in your bed. Please?”

“Draco.” Harry kissed him, then placed his lips on Draco’s ear. “I’ll make love to you anywhere you goddamn please.”

Draco shuddered, and Harry wrapped his arms around him, Apparating him upstairs.

In Harry’s room, he let Draco go, then pulled out his wand to Banish Draco’s waistcoat. He was going to do it with Draco’s shirt as well, but Draco’s fingers wrapped around Harry’s wand, and Harry paused. “Can I—I want.” Draco licked his lips. “Take it off me the Muggle way.”

Harry tossed his wand aside. His hands immediately went to the buttons on Draco’s dress shirt.

“It’s hotter,” Draco said, lips catching on Harry’s as Harry concentrated on the buttons. “You have to go slower.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Fuck. Yeah.” Then he pushed Draco back until the backs of Draco’s legs were against the bed. Harry gave him a little push, and getting the picture, Draco got on the bed, shirt still half undone.

“I didn’t make the bed,” Harry said, getting on it. “I didn’t know you would—sorry.”

“Harry.” Draco’s voice was softly chiding as he reached for him. “I’ve dreamed of doing this with you in your bed for more than half my life. Do you think I care if it’s made?” Then Draco was kissing him again—one of those deep, clever kisses that made Harry feel like he wasn’t getting enough, like he was gasping along the surface when all he wanted to do was drown.

“Fuck,” Harry said, pulling away. His voice was ragged. “I like you. I like you so much.”

“I’m glad you figured it out,” Draco said, arching a little under his gaze.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, making himself go back to Draco’s buttons. He had to get his shirt open. He had to see him, because Draco was so beautiful and Harry wanted to touch him; he wanted to touch him all over.

Draco’s hands were in his hair, drawing him back for teasing little kisses, petting him gently then scratching nails across Harry’s scalp so that he could feel it; he could really feel it. “Fuck,” Harry said again, and Draco murmured, “Shh. I’m here. I’m here for you, Harry. Undress me.”

Draco arched at his own words under Harry’s hands, and Harry heard himself say, “Oh fuck.” He wanted to touch the skin underneath; he wanted him, but he wanted to get all the buttons, to get to touch it all at once, see it all at once—Draco’s chest, his beautiful body, all of that skin. Draco’s skin. Draco’s skin under his hands, Draco arching under Harry’s touch, Draco’s chest against his—

“There’s no need to hurry, Harry.” Draco’s hand lazily stroked Harry’s hair. “You can undress me slowly.”

Harry didn’t even know whether Draco was teasing him; he didn’t care. He got the final button open and at last, at last, he could open Draco’s shirt, look at him, his chest—his scars.

The world stopped for a moment.

“They’re nothing.” Draco surged up, warm hand on Harry’s face, hot mouth covering Harry’s own, gentle and wet. “They’re nothing, Harry.” Draco kissed Harry’s cheek, his jaw, the spot beneath his ear. “Don’t look at them.” Then his mouth was back on Harry’s, teeth lightly closing on Harry’s lower lip and tugging.

Draco was trying to distract him.

“Draco.” Harry put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, pulling him away, pushing him back on the bed. “Draco.” Harry moved down the bed, opening Draco’s shirt again. He put his mouth on one of the scars.

“Oh,” Draco said, lurching under him.

Harry put his hands on Draco’s hips. “Hold still.”

“Fuck,” Draco said, as Harry’s mouth followed the long thin line of a scar.

Harry put his tongue out to taste it, and Draco squirmed again under him.

“Fuck,” Draco said again. “Harry, fuck.” Then his hands were in Harry’s hair, pulling, tugging. “Fuck,” Draco said, squirming under him. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Harry put his chin on Draco’s sternum, looking up at him. “I thought they were nothing.”

“Don’t be a git,” Draco said, yanking on his hair. “What am I talking about? You were born a git.” Then Draco sat up—fuck, his abdominal muscles—then hauled Harry up, pushing him down, twisting until Draco was on top and Harry was under him.

Harry lay there for a moment a little bit stunned, because people didn’t do that to him—drag him around and climb on top of him. He was the Chosen One; his magic was powerful. He was over six feet tall and his shoulders had got broad; they couldn’t. But Draco was lithe and wiry and strong and here he was manhandling Harry, climbing on top of him and having his way with him, and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to be fucked this badly. Maybe he never had.

Swallowing, Harry touched Draco’s shirt, sort of thinking how hot it would be to have Draco completely shirtless on top of him, but unable to get it off of him. Harry was too turned on. As if reading Harry’s thoughts, Draco pulled his wand from his sleeve, Banished his shirt, then tossed the wand aside.

“I thought you didn’t want to use magic,” Harry said.

“We did the sexy part.” Draco leaned in and kissed him again, and after a moment Harry realized that from this position he could touch Draco easily.

He could touch Draco’s thighs—Draco’s lean, hard long thighs—so Harry did it, settling his hands on Draco’s trousers and stroking up to Draco’s arse, then again. Harry tried to remember the last time someone had straddled him like this; he couldn’t. He tried to remember the last time someone’s thighs had made him feel this way—Ginny. He wanted to do things to them. He wanted to fuck them.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, his arse against Harry’s dick, his lips at Harry’s throat, Harry’s hands on Draco’s thighs. Harry kind of wanted to come, just from this. “Harry,” Draco said again, then slid down Harry’s body, tugging up Harry’s t-shirt.

Draco’s clever hands skated over Harry’s abdominal muscles, the scars there from Auror work, and then Draco’s mouth was there and he was talking again. Harry heard the words “darling” and “my beautiful boy” and shuddered. Fuck. Fuck, he really did want to come. He wanted to flip Draco over and rut on top of him until he was done, and he wanted this to never end. He wanted Draco’s feather-light touches and warm lips to stroke him until he died. He could die like this, with Draco saying those things.

Draco pushed Harry’s shirt farther up, revealing his chest. Sucking in a breath, Draco just looked at it for a moment—Harry’s lightly muscled chest, the dusting of black hair. “What’s this, then?” Draco asked, his finger gently tracing the scar from the locket.

“Voldemort.”

Draco looked at him quickly, then back at the scar. “He didn’t hurt you enough? He had to go and do this as well?”

“He wasn’t a very moderate guy.”

Leaning down, Draco put his lips on it, mouth tracing the edges of the scar. Then his tongue was there, tracing the same path his lips had taken, and his hands were pushing Harry’s shirt up into his armpits. When his tongue was done with the scar, Draco picked up his wand again, Banishing Harry’s shirt. He leaned down to kiss Harry again. “What do you like?”

Draco was still sitting astride him, his mouth hovering by the corner of Harry’s lips. Harry shifted under him. “You.”

Draco’s soft laugh puffed hot air against Harry’s face; Harry’s cheek could feel Draco’s mouth curve into a smile. “Yes, Harry. What do you want me to do?”

“Anything.” Harry shifted under him again. He wasn’t even sure whether he was trying to get Draco’s arse off his cock or bring it closer. “You can do anything you want to me.”

“Harry,” Draco said, then stopped. Then he was kissing Harry in that way he had that made Harry want to arch for more, that made him feel like he had to chase Draco’s lips to get enough, and then it still wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and Draco pulled away, lips moving to Harry’s ear. “I’ll do you scientifically,” he whispered. “I’ll do everything to you, one little bit at a time, and I’ll find out what you like. Would you like that Harry?” Draco’s teeth closed over Harry’s ear lobe, then gave a sharp little tug.

“Yes,” Harry gasped. “Yes, I’d—I’d like it.”

“Has anyone ever done that for you, Harry?” Draco’s voice was so low and soft, words whispered like a secret in Harry’s ear. “Studied you? Made a project of you? Taken you apart piece by piece so they know how your body works, every detail of you, every little breath you take?” Draco bit him again, almost too sharply.

Harry heard himself make a sound.

“Have they?” Draco whispered, his breath moving hair by Harry’s ear. His tongue touched the place he’d bitten.

“No,” Harry gasped out. “No. Draco.”

“Darling.” Draco’s lips moved back to Harry’s, so warm and soft and pliant that it didn’t even feel like the same mouth.

“I like that,” Harry breathed, when Draco pulled back for air. “What you—what you said.”

“I’m going to make a project of you?” Draco kissed him again.

“No. Yes. I meant—the other thing. You called me—” Harry broke off, swallowing.

Draco’s eyes widened, soft surprise colouring his features, but then it was tucked away swiftly. “Of course,” he said, leaning in to kiss Harry’s again. “Of course, you like it. You’ve never been anyone else’s darling before, only mine. You’re only mine. I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to feel so good, Harry.”

Then Draco was sliding off of him, and Harry wanted to protest, only Draco’s hands were going for the button on Harry’s jeans. Harry let him, and Draco got it undone, moving next to the zipper. And then they were both lying there, Draco’s body curved against Harry’s, and they were both just watching it—Draco’s hand slowly drawing down the zipper. Their shallow breathing made harsh sounds in the room, the only other sound that zipper. They couldn’t take their eyes off of Draco’s hand drawing it down. They watched its slow descent, the metal teeth parting, Draco’s pale hand guiding it with the metal tag.

Finally it was down. “Harry,” Draco breathed. Then he reached inside, and Harry could feel the brush of Draco’s fingers—his beautiful fingers, brushing over Harry’s cock through the material of his briefs. Harry jerked a little against his hand. “Harry,” Draco said again, like a prayer. “Sweetheart.”

Harry jerked again, made a sound. Draco must have known Harry would, because Draco used it like a distraction, hooking his finger under the waistband of the briefs and pulling them down, freeing Harry’s erection.

Draco made a little noise then, muted and soft, presumably at the sight of Harry’s cock.

Harry was aching, his cock hard enough to hurt, leaking at the tip, and he was with Draco—Draco with his teasing little smiles and his insanely good looks, Draco who was so fiercely protective and so hopelessly loving, who was so smart, so clever, who hadn’t been able to stop fucking boys even though he’d tried, who’d had a Muggle boyfriend named Rohit.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this?” Draco whispered.

“Please,” Harry said. “Please.” He felt like all of him was straining for Draco’s touch—for Draco to do something, anything, say his name again.

“Yes,” Draco breathed. His hand came up and they both watched it, holding their breaths now as the both of them watched Draco’s long fingers almost hesitantly approach Harry’s cock. When the fingers were close enough to touch, Draco only used his thumb, a brush against the wet tip, and Harry wanted to complain but for the fact that Draco made a sound, a soft little broken needy sound, just from touching it.

Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this, he’d said, and when Harry shifted a bit to see the look on Draco’s face he saw that Draco’s eyes were full of wonder. He looked as though he could barely believe it was happening, like it was magical, unreal, his hand on Harry’s cock—the back of one finger stroking along the side now, Draco’s breath hitching as he did it, his eyes glued to it.

“Fuck.” Harry had to close his eyes at the expression on Draco’s face. Fuck. It was too much. It was too much. “Touch me,” he heard himself beg, his voice ragged. “Draco.”

“Yes,” Draco said again, his fingers slowly circling Harry’s cock. “Yes. Harry, yes,” and his fingers were a fist around it, slowly dragging up.

Harry’s eyes came open to watch it; he had to see it, Draco’s hand on his cock, Draco slowly jacking him—so slowly. Agonizingly slow. “Fuck.” Swallowing, Harry had to close his eyes again. His voice was strangled when he said, “Don’t tease me.”

The hand paused, then started stroking again, even slower, thumb swirling the liquid at the tip ever so slowly. “I think you like it,” Draco said, partially curling over Harry so Draco’s lips were closer. “I think you like it when I tease you. Don’t you, Harry.” His warm breath caressed Harry’s face, his soft voice making Harry’s toes curl. “You don’t have enough people to tease you,” Draco went on. “Everybody wants to give you what you want, but they don’t know you like I know you. I know you, Harry. You need someone to be gentle with you. You need someone to go slow with you, show you how precious you are. Harry.” Fingers dragged slowly up Harry’s cock.

“Draco.” Harry’s breath was guttering.

“Shh,” Draco murmured, his lips on Harry’s now. “I know what you need. I’ll be everything you need; I’ll be so good for you.”

Then Draco was kissing him, and Harry finally found the strength to bring his hands up, pull Draco’s head away, ripping away the kiss. “You already are good,” Harry told him, pushing him off.

Harry rolled over, putting himself over Draco now, Draco on the bed beneath him, eyes wide with surprise, cheeks pink. Pulling Draco’s hand away from his dick, Harry pinned it on the bed. “What else did you imagine?”

Draco bit his lip, still seeming surprised he was in this position.

“What did you imagine when you imagined you were in my bed with me?” Harry kissed Draco in his clumsy way—hard and probably too forcefully; he didn’t care.

“Oh,” Draco said.

“Tell me,” Harry said, kissing him again.

“Well, I—” Draco stopped, swallowed. His gaze swept down. “I probably just imagined you’d—you’d pin me down and have your Auror way with me.”

“You wanted me to fuck you?”

Draco’s breath caught. “Yes.”

“Did you ever imagine fucking me?”

Draco’s breath caught again, this time with a little noise at the back of his throat. “I—yes,” he said, breathlessly. “Yes. Harry.”

“Tell me something else you imagined.”

“I,” Draco began, but he stopped, his eyes still wide. He trembled a little.

“Tell me something,” Harry said again. “I’ll give it to you.”

Draco swallowed hard. “I,” he said, then hesitated again. “I imagined you’d call me—you would call me Draco.”

“You already have that.” Harry kissed him again. “Tell me something you haven’t got yet, so I can give it to you.”

Draco swallowed again.

When he didn’t say anything, Harry loosened up a little. He’d been pressing Draco down into the bed. “It’s not meant to be a test, Draco.”

Draco blurted, “There’s so much I want, I can’t—” He cut himself off as abruptly as he’d started.

“Choose something,” Harry said.

“Finish undressing me.”

“Like that,” Harry said, hands going to the fastening of Draco’s trousers. “That was good.” Draco’s hips gave a little jerk, Harry guessed because he was getting Draco’s trousers off. They were old-fashioned, buttons all the way down. Harry was beginning to hate buttons, particularly without his glasses, except that Draco was strangely still under Harry’s hands, as though he was afraid that if he moved, Harry would stop. Harry sort of wanted to tell Draco that nothing other than the word, “Stop,” would stop him right now, but he didn’t. Instead Harry worked on getting the final button, and then Draco’s trousers were open, and Harry tugged on them a bit to slide them farther down Draco’s hips. Then Harry’s hand was on Draco’s underwear, pulling it down, freeing Draco’s cock.

“Oh, fuck.” Draco threw his arm over his eyes, as though he couldn’t bear to watch.

Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t take his eyes away. He’d dreamed of Draco often since that incident with the siren tongue powder. He’d dreamed of Draco kissing him, touching him, even fucking him—and yet with all of that, he hadn’t thought too much about Draco’s cock, not explicitly. He hadn’t pictured what it would look like; he’d just pictured Draco using it on him, making Harry come, using his clever mouth, his clever hands.

But now Draco’s cock was in Harry’s hand and it was still somehow unexpected—its length. Harry hadn’t expected it to be long. He hadn’t expected that thatch of curls at the base, how much darker it was than Draco’s blond head. How red the cock was against Draco’s otherwise pale skin, how smooth, the curve to it, everything—the way Harry’s mouth watered as he looked at it. He wanted to taste it; he wanted to fill himself up with it; he wanted to touch it more than he was already touching it; he wanted to wank it.

He wanted to wank it even more than he even wanted to have his own cock be wanked. The urge to make Draco feel good was so strong that Harry hardly realized he could put the drool in his mouth to good use before he was taking his hand off Draco’s cock.

Draco took his arm away from his eyes in time to see Harry spit on his own hand then bring it back down. “Oh my fuck,” Draco breathed, when Harry’s hand wrapped around it again. As if unable to help it, he arched into Harry’s hand. “Merlin. Fuck. Fuck.”

Harry’s fist moved up and down Draco’s shaft. He wanted to kiss Draco while doing it, feel that warm soft reassurance of Draco’s lips, his clever tongue, but when Harry leaned down Draco’s mouth was already open, connecting with Harry’s inside a little moan. Harry swirled his thumb around the tip of Draco’s cock to spread the wetness around, and Draco moaned again, arching, his tongue swiping between Harry’s lips to lick Harry’s tongue and then slipping back out again, so that Harry was swallowing Draco’s little cry.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, pressing up against Draco’s side. Harry’s own cock brushed up against Draco’s hip. “Goddamn,” Harry said.

“Harry.” Draco jerked under Harry’s hand. “Slow down.” Then Draco’s hand was there, his fingernails digging hard into the back of Harry’s hand, the one still wrapped around Draco’s cock. “Slow down,” Draco repeated, arching under him. “I can’t—I need—” Then his hand was guiding Harry’s, sliding it down, moving Harry’s fingers to wrap tightly around the base—too tightly. Draco gasped. “Hold it like that.”

“All right,” Harry said, even though it seemed kind of early for Draco to have to stop himself from coming.

“I can’t,” Draco began again. “I get—sometimes—usually I can control it.” His voice came rapidly all of the sudden. “I’m not a teenager; I know how to pace myself, but sometimes I’m—I get—it’s because it’s you.” The words were almost tumbling over each other in Draco’s rushed explanation. “It’s you, and I’ve wanted you so long, and I’m just—I can’t—but it won’t be like this all the time. I promise I’m not like this all the time.”

“I’ll go as slow as you want me to,” Harry said, keeping his voice slow just for good measure. Then he put his lips by Draco’s ear. “But if you want to come fast that just means I’ll get to make you come more. Over and over.”

“Oh.” Draco’s hips jerked, and his hand shot down to cover Harry’s, still wrapped around his dick. “Hold it tight, Harry,” he whispered.

Harry’s hand squeezed. He bit Draco’s ear, like Draco had done to him. “Do you want me to get you a cock ring?”

“Oh my days,” Draco breathed. “Do you have one here? In your bedroom?”

“No. I don’t—I never really used them.” Harry tried nibbling along the shell of Draco’s ear. “But I bet I can enchant something for you.”

“No.” Draco tugged a bit on Harry’s hand. “It’s fine now. I’m fine. I was just . . . I got a little . . . worked up.”

Harry moved behind Draco’s ear now, along his hairline, down below his ear and against his throat. “I like it when you’re worked up,” he murmured. Hand looser now around Draco’s dick, Harry stroked it slowly—an agonizing speed he would never have wanted for himself.

Draco sucked in a breath. “I—you talking. Like that. That was—it was something else I imagined.”

For a moment, Harry couldn’t even remember what he’d said. He’d thought he’d just agreed with Draco, but then he realized what it was. I grow quite weak for praise, Draco had said, just a few days ago. He’d been two years younger, then. “Do you want me to praise you, Draco?” Harry said, his lips moving against Draco’s neck.

Draco’s breath caught again, and Harry didn’t know what to say. He’d never really done this before, but he thought that he could manage.

“Do you want me to tell you how hot you are? How much I want you?”

“Yes,” Draco said breathlessly. “Yes.”

“You’re so hot,” Harry said immediately. “Sometimes all I have to do is think of you and my dick gets hard.”

“Harry.” Draco breath was almost a whine, his body moving restlessly.

“You get me so hard Draco.” Harry pushed against him, his dick sliding along Draco’s hips again. “You feel that? How hard you get me? I want you so much. I like you so much. Draco.” Harry kissed him again, but it was like Draco could barely register it, like he couldn’t even close his mouth, his jaw hanging as he gasped for air.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Harry said again. “You’re beautiful, Draco; I want you; I love doing this to you. I love touching you. Do you want me to talk about that, how good your dick feels in my hand?”

Draco shuddered violently, making this horrified little noise. His eyes filling with something almost like panic, he bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and looked away, flinging his hand down between his legs to squeeze his dick at the base so he couldn’t come. Fuck. Draco wanted to come just from that; Harry could feel it in the tremor that had gone through Draco’s body. Harry could see it, the violent flush coursing over Draco’s naked chest.

“You like me talking about your dick,” Harry breathed into his ear, and Draco made that horrified little noise again. His eyes were squinched shut tightly, his face turned away from Harry’s at an almost desperate angle. “Let me hold it,” Harry said, keeping his voice soft in Draco’s ear as he covered Draco’s hand with his own. “I promise I won’t let you come.”

Draco took a deep gasping breath. Then another one. On the third one, he finally let go, letting Harry’s hand squeeze his cock instead.

Harry waited, hand holding Draco’s cock while Draco took long, steady breaths. Close up against him like this, Harry could smell him—some product Draco used in his hair that smelled clean, a trace of lemon, layered under the heavier scent of sweat and the mounting smell of sex. Harry could hear Draco’s heartbeat, and Harry thought he’d never done anything so intimate, holding Draco’s dick for him while Draco calmed himself so he wouldn’t come too fast.

“Can I touch you now?” Harry whispered.

“I think—” Draco gulped, took another breath. His head jerked in another nod, but he still wouldn’t look at Harry. His cheeks were still pink, and he must be so embarrassed. Harry wanted to tell him how much he loved it, how good this felt, but he couldn’t think how, then Draco went on. “Yes, you can—you can.”

Harry took his hand away. If he went as slow and took as long as Draco seemed to want, Draco was going to end up chafed. “Accio lube,” Harry said, throwing his other hand out to catch the tube.

Harry rubbed his hands together to get the lube warm, make sure he had enough. Then he set the lube aside, spelled his left hand clean and wrapped his right around Draco’s cock again. Draco arched into Harry’s touch.

“Do you want to know how good it feels in my hand?” Harry said, stroking it.

“Harry,” Draco said, arching hotly under him.

“So good.” Harry kissed him. “It’s so good; you have such a good cock, Draco.”

“Yes. Please—yes.”

“I’m imagining it inside me,” Harry whispered. “I’m imagining how deep you’ll get, how amazing it’s going to feel to have this beautiful dick in me, fucking me, filling me with your hot come—”

“Harry.” Draco writhed.

“You like that, the though of your dick in me, fucking me, your gorgeous dick; I want to suck it.”

“Please,” Draco gasped. “Please—”

“Yeah, get my lips around it, get in in my mouth, this gorgeous dick.” Harry kissed him again. “I want to feel it in my throat. I want to have no choice but to swallow all that hot come. I want it; I want to be close to you; I want all of you; I love you.”

“Harry!” Draco’s hand shot down, squeezing the base of his own dick, stopping himself from coming.

“Let me,” Harry said, moving his wet hand up to circle the base of Draco’s cock. After a moment, Draco’s hand loosened, and Harry circled his fingers around it tightly, squeezing. He put his lips by Draco’s ear again. “I’m happy to hold your cock for you while I tell you how fucking beautiful it is.”

“Oh!” Draco jerked, his spine coming almost entirely off the bed but for his head.

“Shh,” Harry said, hand still tight around Draco’s cock. “Shh. You’re so responsive, Draco. It’s so fucking hot.”

“It’s you,” Draco panted, turning his red face toward Harry. His blond hair stood out against his deep flush; sweat was beginning at his temples. “It’s because it’s you; I’m not normally . . .”

“I like it,” Harry said. He didn’t even want to kiss Draco at this point; he just wanted to be close. His nose was behind Draco’s ear, and Harry pressed inward, as though he could burrow farther against Draco’s neck. “I like it so much. Draco, you have no idea how much I want to make you come for me.”

Draco shuddered. “Not yet. I didn’t want to—yet.”

“Yes.” Harry tried scraping his teeth a bit along Draco’s throat. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want me to.”

“Quit saying that,” Draco said, still seeming like he was vying for control even though Harry’s fingers were still tight around his dick. “You’re making it worse.”

Harry held him for a minute, smelling Draco’s hair again, his sweat, listening to his heartbeat. Opening his mouth, Harry set his teeth on the curve of Draco’s shoulder.

Draco shuddered in a response. “This is stupid.”

Harry took his teeth away.

“It’s not what I meant to do.” Tugging Harry’s hand away, Draco put a bit of distance between them, then rolled over, facing Harry finally, putting his hand flat over the scar at the center of Harry’s chest. “I was going to make you feel good,” Draco went on. “I wanted to make you feel so good.”

“You were making me feel good,” Harry said.

“By having to hold my dick every other second because I want to come from your touch, just like a teenager?” Draco was facing him, but he still wouldn’t lift his eyes. His body was still flushed pink.

Harry looked down at him, and he loved this too. He didn’t know why. Something about seeing Draco this mortified made him feel like he was falling in love all over again. “I think I’ve made it clear how much I like holding your dick,” Harry said finally.

Even though Draco was already pink, he still flushed again. His body was radiating heat like a furnace; Harry was beginning to sweat even though he hadn’t done anything. “It’s just—not what I had in mind,” Draco said, sounding so unhappy. “I don’t even like the word dick.”

Harry couldn’t help his smile. “You prefer the word cock?”

Draco nodded miserably, his face still half hidden in the pillow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Stay there.” Pressing down on Harry’s chest, Draco used it to leverage himself into a sitting position. Then he got off the bed, picked up his wand. Standing up, he pointed it at himself, made his trousers, underpants, shoes, and socks disappear. Then he cast something else on himself that made him look suddenly somehow pristine—the splotches of pink and red under his skin all gone, the sweat disappeared. Harry’s heart tightened, because he missed it, but the view as Draco walked across the room was not bad. Draco was a really beautiful person, and Harry couldn’t even tell whether he thought so because Draco really was just that good-looking, or because Harry wanted him so badly.

Draco went to Harry’s chest of drawers, rifling around on the top of it, taking something off of it. Then Draco turned, frowning, his hand going down to his dick and—fiddling with it. He was—he’d taken one of Harry’s hair bands, Harry’s saw, swallowing hard. Draco was putting one of Harry’s hairbands around the base of his dick, then tightening it with his wand.

Harry’s mouth was dry. He wanted to say something, anything, but he felt paralyzed with desire.

“All right, Harry,” Draco said, coming back to the bed, sliding in beside him. “I’m ready now.”

Harry’s voice was strangled; he couldn’t get enough air. “You’re so fucking hot,” he managed to say.

“Yes.” Draco’s teeth found the corner of Harry’s jaw. “I was supposed to be.” His warm hand slid around Harry’s dick.

“Well,” Harry said, struggling for air. “You succeeded.”

“Good.” Draco’s voice was low and hot, a vibration against Harry’s throat, his hand slowly stroking up Harry’s cock, then back down.

Draco kept stroking it, and everything about it was wrong. It was too gentle, too slow, not enough; ordinarily Harry would have been bored by it, except that it was Draco. It was Draco and he kept kissing Harry, those teasing kisses, but every few moments it was as if he could not help himself—he’d look down at his own hand on Harry’s cock, as if he couldn’t believe it was still there. The look of wonder would fill his features, only to be tucked away as swiftly as it had struck him.

Harry looked at it as well—Draco’s white hand on Harry’s red cock, the black hair at the base. It was a striking picture, but not quite striking enough for Harry to be as awed by it as Draco was, especially since Draco’s hand was so gentle and slow. “Draco,” Harry said, because Draco had been staring at it a while.

Draco glanced up hastily, momentary guilt painting his features. “Harry,” he said, kissing Harry in a rush, as if he knew he was meant to be kissing him and had forgot for a moment.

“Can you . . .” Harry shifted under him, seeking a different touch—anything, and Draco immediately changed the angle of his hand, scraping his fingernail along the length of Harry’s cock.

Harry hissed in a breath.

“Oh,” Draco said breathlessly. “You like that. What about this?” His hand went lower to tug on Harry’s bollocks—rather sharply.

Harry shuddered in surprise.

“Yes,” Draco breathed against Harry’s lips. “You like it.” His fingernails scraped over the soft skin of Harry’s bollocks, and—as if unable to resist—Draco looked down to watch, seeming to hold his breath as he watched himself tug and scrape and play with Harry’s balls.

“Draco,” Harry said again, his voice strained.

“Yes, Harry.” Draco let go of Harry’s bollocks immediately, warm hand once more wrapping around Harry’s cock, but the fingernail was back, scraping directly over his slit.

Harry heard himself cry out, his hips twitching on the bed.

“Yes,” Draco said again. “Yes, Harry. I know what you like now. I know what you want.”

I want you, Harry wanted to protest, but Draco’s mouth was covering his, warm and inviting while Draco’s hand did things to his cock, things no one had ever done before because it was a cock. It wasn’t a plaything to be poked and tested and explored. Everyone who’d got their hands on it before knew what to do with it, how to make it feel good, how to get it off, except for maybe Ginny in the beginning, but they’d learned quickly and together. Draco didn’t seem at all interested in that. Instead he was interested in torture, touching it softly and warmly with firm strokes—the way it should be touched—then suddenly changing, scraping his nail along it, tugging it too roughly.

“Accio lube,” Draco said, taking his hand off for a moment.

“Oh God.” Harry gulped, relieved Draco had let him go because he was overwhelmed; it was overwhelming; no one had ever done this to him before. He didn’t even know whether he liked it, except that he did—he did like it; the way Draco was touching him made him want more and more and more of him, the way his kisses did, the way everything about Draco made him want more.

“Harry,” Draco said, low and eager and affectionate in Harry’s ear, and then his hand was wrapping around Harry’s cock again, this time slick with lube.

“I need more,” Harry heard himself say, his voice cracking.

Draco’s slick warm hand slid up Harry’s cock. “Of course you do, darling,” Draco murmured. Just that made Harry arch; he wanted to come, and he wondered whether this was what Draco had felt, why he had to have that cock ring—every little thing was too much. “I know what you need. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Harry slid his hand down Draco’s naked back, over his arse. He guessed if Draco was just going to keep teasing, he could tease back. Maybe it would incite Draco to more. Harry’s fingers stroked Draco’s arse—it was such a good arse, that round curve of muscle. Harry’s fingers skated across it to Draco’s crack, touching it lightly, then pressing in, between the glut muscles—not even finding Draco’s hole, just resting his fingers in that hidden place.

Draco had been kissing him, but now he came up for air, his hand faltering a little on Harry’s cock.

“How long are you going to tease me?” Harry asked, teeth nipping the part of Draco that was closest, which was his chin.

“I . . .” Draco arched into Harry’s hand, his face pink and surprised. “Forever, Harry,” he said in that breathless, excited voice. “I’m going to tease you until you break.”

“You’re getting close.” Harry bit his chin again.

“Harry.” Draco kissed him—not a teasing kiss; it was a kiss that felt like Draco needed it. “Harry,” he said again, sounding almost desperate. “You’re perfect.”

Harry squeezed Daco’s arse. “You said I wasn’t.”

“I meant for me,” Draco said, his hand moving on Harry’s cock, not so methodically now. “You’re perfect for me. You’re mine. You were made for me.”

No one had ever said anything like that to Harry before, perhaps because it was a nonsensical thing to say. Harry had been made for a goddamn prophecy, or because his parents loved each other, or some kind of accident; Harry didn’t know, maybe all three. He certainly hadn’t been made for this breathless, excitable person above him, most of whose life had been one huge fucking mistake after another, this goddamn mess of a man who never seemed able to express himself in a semi-normal way.

Harry wished he’d been made for him. He wanted to be nothing other than this moment, this moment in which he was loved and adored with this warm person on top of him who liked him well enough to say such a thing. Squeezing Draco’s arse again, Harry said hoarsely, “Say it again.”

“You were made for me,” Draco said breathlessly, kissing him. “You’re mine. You’re mine. You belong to me. You’re perfect for me, Harry; you were meant for me. You’re meant for me.” Each of these things was said between kisses—not Draco’s teasing kisses; these were kisses dropped all over Harry’s face. They seemed to unlike Draco, messy and unplanned, as though Draco couldn’t help himself, and Harry couldn’t stand it.

He felt as though his insides were too big to contain the things he felt; he couldn’t bear this any longer. Pushing Draco off of him, Harry held him down, got on top. “I need to fuck you,” Harry said, hating how his voice sounded rough when he’d meant to say I love you. “I need to fuck you right now.”

“Yes,” Draco said, arching under him. “Yes, do it, Harry. Use me.”

“Christ.” Harry’s cock was out and he was ready; he was so ready, but at those words he held himself over Draco and let his head drop down, brow pressing against Draco’s. “Christ,” Harry said again. “I don’t want to use you, Draco. I want to make love to you.”

Draco took a big deep shuddering breath. His swallow made an audible gulp. “Yes,” Draco said, after a moment. “Yes, all right. You can—you can do that.”

Draco was scared, Harry realized. All that teasing and playing, all of that about knowing exactly what to do—he was scared, and Harry didn’t know what to do about it. “Put your arms around me,” Harry told him.

“Yes.” Draco immediately complied.

Lifting himself up, Harry moved above Draco so that his cock slid along Draco’s milky white hip bone—again, and again.

“You don’t want to . . .” Draco’s breath caught. “Inside me?”

“I want to every way possible,” Harry said. “We have time.”

Draco’s breath stuttered again. “Oh.”

Harry moved so that his dick could slide against Draco’s, still hard and angry red with Harry’s hairband around its base. At the first stinging touch of them together, Draco jerked wildly; then he pushed at Harry’s shoulders.

“Can you,” he said. “I need to—” Draco didn’t finish, but with the way he was twisting his head, Harry knew what Draco needed; he wanted to see. He wanted to look at their cocks together, touching, the way he’d been unable to take his eyes off of his hand on Harry’s cock for more than a few seconds.

Harry rolled to the side a bit, trying to give Draco an angle to see their cocks touching.

Draco looked down at them, Harry’s thick dark cock against Draco’s. Draco’s eyes were huge, his hand moving in their direction almost as though unconsciously, as though helplessly drawn to them.

“Yeah,” Harry heard himself say, almost as helplessly. His mouth was filling with saliva, and he was looking down at their cocks almost as avidly as Draco, at Draco’s hand beginning to touch them. “Yeah, Draco, come on, get us—get us off together, touch me, fuck. Please touch me.”

“Harry,” Draco breathed, wrapping his hand around them both.

Draco’s hand was warm and still slick with lubrication, and Harry could feel it close around him, pressing Draco’s hot cock against his own, the line of Draco’s body warm against him too. “More,” Harry heard himself gasp. “Please, more, touch me—I need you to touch me; please don’t tease me.”

“Yes,” Draco said, stroking them together, squeezing. “Harry.”

Harry was getting closer, but that meant Draco was that much more likely to pull back again, to tease him again. “Don’t tease me, please. Please.”

“Harry,” Draco breathed.

“Please,” Harry begged. “Touch me. Touch me."

“Harry. Harry.” Then he was pushing Harry away with his other hand—doing it again, teasing him, and Harry just wanted to be close together; he wanted them to be close—Harry didn’t know what he said, but Draco said, “Shh. Harry. Let me get on top of you. I promise I won’t stop touching you; I promise. I’ll touch you forever.”

Harry at last lay back where Draco was pushing, and Draco did it—he got on top, but his hand was still between them, still holding them together, and Draco was right. This was better, Draco warm and solid on top of him, more of them touching, and Harry got to put his arms around all that bare skin again. “Darling,” Draco said, then kissed him. This kiss was warm and wet, full and not teasing at all, slow, Draco’s tongue inside, like Draco had just opened up completely for it, and Harry heard himself moan.

“It’s okay,” Draco said. “I’m here; you’re mine. You’ll always be mine, Harry; I’ll always touch you; I’ll touch you all the time, because you’re mine. You belong to me.”

“Yes.” Harry panted. “Please don’t stop. Please.”

“Shh,” Draco said again. “I won’t stop touching you, Harry. I’m going to—just for a moment, darling; it will be good for you; I’ll make it so good for you; I won’t stop touching you—” But then he did stop, taking his hand away from between them to use his wand for something.

“Draco,” Harry said, shifting under him, Draco sitting up on him a bit to have the leverage to use his wand.

“Sweetheart, just a second; let me—” Draco cast a spell that removed Harry’s jeans and underwear, then another that lubricated both Draco’s hands. Tossing his wand aside, he lay down on top of Harry, all of his weight on Harry, his chin pressed against Harry’s shoulder and then—then Draco was lifting his hips so both hands could get between them—both hands warm and slick, one wrapping around their cocks again, but the other slipping down to hold Harry’s balls, squeezing gently, then tugging.

“Oh,” Harry said, jerking under him. It was a lot of touching, both of Draco’s hands on him, his upper body strewn against Harry’s chest, extra weight pressing down to hold himself up so his hands could get between them. “Fuck.” Harry arched.

Draco turned his head so that the weight of it rested on the side of his face, his hands still moving warmly on their cocks, Harry’s balls. “I wish I had another hand,” Draco said, “so I could touch you more.”

Harry jerked under him. “Please,” he begged. “Please.”

“I love you,” Draco breathed. “I love touching you. You’re mine. You’re mine.”

Harry could feel himself getting close now, those two warm wet hands working him, the friction of Draco’s cock against his own, Draco’s body against his, his breath. “Yes,” Harry breathed. “Yours, yes, yes—Draco—”

“Sweetheart.” Draco adjusted the weight of his upper body so that he could kiss him. “My darling.” He kissed him again. “My beloved.” Again. “My precious boy.” Again. “My sweet, beautiful boy, mine, I’ll take care of you; I’ll take care of you.”

“Fuck.” Harry arched again.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Draco said, his hands moving harder. “Come for me while I touch you, while I take care of you; I’m never going to stop; I love you; I love you.”

“Draco,” Harry said, then thrashed wildly and came, hips pumping erratically under Draco, coming out in spurts between them—into Draco’s hand at first, between them, but then on Draco’s belly, his chest. Draco arched, just as though he wanted it all over him, and Harry groaned, unable to watch. Draco was too gorgeous to watch.

“Good boy,” Draco said, and Harry shuddered.

“Oh, God.”

“Good,” Draco said again. “So good, so beautiful, my good boy, my precious baby, yes, yes, so good for me—” Draco was dropping kisses on him as he babbled—helpless kisses, everywhere, all over Harry’s face, just like he couldn’t control it—again—

But his hands weren’t on them any more; his upper body wasn’t on him, and Draco was rubbing Harry’s come on his own body, and the kisses were almost like—a distraction, as if Harry wouldn’t see that Draco was doing it. Pushing Draco off of him, Harry got Draco down on the mattress again, Draco blinking at him in startlement. “I’m going to lick it off you,” Harry said, then proceeded to do it.

“Oh, my days,” Draco said, throwing his head back.

“Let me take the hairband off,” Harry said, licking Draco’s chest, his stomach, his own come all over Draco. “I want to watch you come.”

“Harry.” Draco buried one of his hands in Harry’s hair as Harry licked off more of the come.

Harry moved up so his eyes could meet Draco’s, Harry’s hand settling around Draco’s cock, the hairband tight at the base. “Let me take it off.”

Eye wide, Draco swallowed. “Give me another minute.”

“Why?” Harry leaned closer, until his mouth was just over Draco’s. “Do you want me to suck it?”

“Oh, Harry.” Draco jerked into his hand.

“What if I put my mouth on it right now?” Harry said, then licked Draco’s lips. “What if I put it in my mouth, took the hairband off, and you just—came inside? Right inside my mouth.”

“Harry, please,” Draco said, jerking again.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, moving over him a bit, kissing his jaw, his temple, his brow. “We’ll fuck again. I’ll make love to you again. I promise.”

“Harry.” Draco gulped. “It’s the first time; I wanted to—I wanted it to be—”

“You wanted to please me. Didn’t you?” Harry rubbed his soft cock against Draco’s hip. “Please me again, Draco. Let me undo it. Let me watch you come.”

“Yes.” Draco’s hips moved up a bit, this time on purpose. “Yes, yes, I want to please you. I want—”

“Then let me take it off you.”

“Harry,” Draco said, twisting against him. He stared into Harry’s eyes, lips parted, breathing hard. “I love you. I love you, Harry.”

“I know, Draco.” With a wandless, wordless spell, Harry undid the hair tie.

“Oh,” Draco said, hips jerking, but he didn’t come.

Then Harry touched him at the tip and it happened almost instantly, as if by command, Draco’s eyes going wide and almost pained, then squinching shut tightly, his hips bucking as the come came out rather more wildly than Harry had expected, load after load. Draco punctuated each spurt of it with a tight little, “ah;” going, “ah, ah, ah,” as he came, almost as though each release of it pained him, and Harry realized why it was so, so odd. He’d seen Draco in so many ways, but he’d never seen him at this age, like this, so completely lost for control, so completely open. When Harry considered that maybe this was why Draco hadn’t wanted to come, Harry wrapped his arms around him and held him tight through the last shuddering pulses of it, another “ah” filling Harry’s ear, then a softer, final groan.

“Good,” Harry said, remembering what Draco had said to him. He rubbed Draco’s back. “Good, you looked so beautiful. You’re so beautiful. I love you.”

“Harry.” Draco shuddered in his arms.

“Let me lick you.”

“Heavens.” Draco shuddered again.

Harry licked the come off of him, but he couldn’t find much of it—Draco had done it everywhere; it could be on the walls, the ceiling, with the way Draco had shot off, and Draco kept carding his hands through Harry’s hair saying, “Harry. Harry.” At last Draco tugged and Harry went, Draco manhandling him again, arranging him into a position—Harry on his side, Draco behind him curled against him, Draco’s leg over both of Harry’s, tugging them against Draco’s other leg possessively, Draco’s arm over Harry’s waist, hand on Harry’s chest. No one had ever spooned Harry like this before; he was fairly large. He’d always done it the other way; it had just seemed natural.

“Is this all right, Harry?” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear. “Is this enough touching?”

Harry’s breath caught. “Yes. It—yes.”

“I have more.” Draco bit Harry’s ear. “I have so many more ways to touch you. Do you like that, darling?”

Harry’s breath guttered. “Yes.”

“I’ll hold you—all the time. I’ll spoil you. I’ll tie you up. What do you think of that, Harry?”

“I—don’t know.”

Draco’s nose pushed under Harry’s ear, Draco’s breath hot on Harry’s throat. “Has no one ever done that to you before?”

“No.”

“I’ll do it,” Draco breathed. “I think you need it. I think you get too distracted—you want to touch, when I think maybe you should just take a moment to lie back and be touched, let me do things to you. What do you think, Harry? Would you like that?”

“I—as long as—as you were touching me.” Harry took a breath. “As long as you didn’t leave me there.”

“Oh, no. Darling. Darling.” Draco’s lips pressed against Harry’s skin. “I’m never going to leave you. I’ll never stop touching you. Baby. Precious.” Draco kissed him again, and again. “I love you. I love you.”

“Then I think . . .” Harry swallowed hard. “I think anything would be okay.”


End file.
